


Bepo’s Drabble and One Shot Collection

by Harmonica_Smile (Rescue_Remedy)



Category: One Piece
Genre: Aphorisms and Tropes: Reddit Prompts for January, Drabble Collection, Gen, Hungry Bepo, Implied Canibalism kind of, Just reflected Marco/Law in chapter 7, Might widen beyond the Hearts - we’ll see, Minion Island (chapter 12), Natural Selection, Not Canon Compliant, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Studies in Minature - November Reddit Prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2019-08-14 17:43:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16497251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rescue_Remedy/pseuds/Harmonica_Smile
Summary: Life from Bepo’s point of view. He’s hungry but all there is to eat is this lousy crust of bread.Short Bepo reflections  as he gets in touch with his primordial side. Inspired by Reddit’s Studies in Minature - November prompts, Aphorisms and Tropes: Daily Prompts for January, and own ideas.





	1. Loss one day, Love the next

**Loss**

What kind of polar bear couldn't catch a Largha seal, rip off its head and chew down on the tasty, fatty, meat as soon as its paws and claws had stopped its heart from beating? The Mink kind, Bepo sighed, looking at all the blubbery goodness so tempting on the ice floes. Plus, they ate the skin first anyway, fur and all, and the fur was all too familiar, similar to Captain’s hat. He slumped and went below deck, shaking his head at the loss of protein, loss of protection, loss of barbequed seal pup that his sacrifice cost.

* * *

**Love**

What kind of polar bear couldn't catch a Largha seal, rip off its head and chew down on the tasty, fatty meat as soon as its paws and claws had stopped its heart from beating?

One with a bit of finesse, of course. They started with the skin, though the fur could be a bit tickly going down the throat.

 _You're_ a Mink, Bepo, a Mink. We only eat animals that dwell in water like hippopotamuses, like whales, like. No. You cannot eat animals with golden eyes. Captain is off limits. Yes, he identifies as part of the Largha tribe but no. No, _no_ , no. No eating of Captain.

Bepo bit down on a crusty old bread elbow Law had left on the side of his plate, the sleeve of his haori hiding the movement. Wano was poor. Captain was allergic, but it was bad form to refuse when the population of Bakura town was starving.

The bread was dry and dusty on his tongue, the flakes caught in his throat. He chewed on down. Law's gratitude was scintillating, gratifying, mouthwatering like a tiny shank on a spit over an open fire. All scrawn, no substance anyway. True fucking love.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **November 1st** (Thoughtful Thursday) - **Loss**. Show us your character's thoughts at the moment they lost something important to them - whether an object, a person, or something else entirely. (100 words)
> 
>  **November 2nd** (Friday Feelings). **Love**. What does love mean to your character? Who do they love and why? (200 words)


	2. Enemies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seals play Russian roulette with Polar bears' wily knowhow.

**Enemies**

Something stirred in Bepo like the call to sea that had driven him to search for Zepo all those years ago; that had him tumble off Zunesha's leg and into the ocean. He travelled far and wide and lived with bears in the far north. Further north than North blue. He learned that, just like cleaning your house weekly, white bears killed a seal every five to six days, and a few of those could be enough to sate hunger for a week or more, if need be. Polar bears had big stomachs. Minks too. The lovely blubber and skin of the sea mammals kept them warm.

He was always hungry on the Polar Tang. He wasn't allowed to eat Captain, or Penguin, or Shachi even. He'd have a bit more of a struggle with him, but Beluga, Orca, both were whales, and both were a food source. How was it that a scientific vessel obstructed the ways of nature?

Captain said he was a Mink, not a polar bear. A Mink, not a Polar Bear, but a Mink. Mink, Mink, Mink. Mink,  _Bepo!_  Mink! His claws scratched the architrave as he thought of the clever way seals made hideaway breathing holes for themselves in the water and when they popped up for air,  _Bam!_  Dinner. Polar bears were born with a patience that belied their Kung fu fu. Enhanced it.

If they just let him club a seal or two he'd be set for the month and wouldn't have to raid the pasta supplies, crunching down on dried macaroni as if he'd just made himself a pretty dyed necklace out of the ship's rations.

"You cook it, you stupid bear!"

_"Sorry, Sorry."_

Bepo bowed while wondering if the tastiest part of Penguin was the drumstick or the thigh. No bothersome cooking involved. A spot of saliva drooled to the floor. Bepo's hunger. The natural enemy of the Heart crew.

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **November 3rd (Saturday Relations) - Enemies**. Does your character have an enemy? How do they relate to them? What drives your character's conflict with their enemy? (300 words)
> 
> This comes in at 321 words. I don't know if we're going to have a month of Bepo's appetite or not. It will depend upon the prompts.
> 
> I have a longer [one shot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14315334/chapters/37426817) (600 words, so not that long) that deals with this topic. It obviously holds some fascination for me, and is not canon compliant. lol. Oh, and I had Bepo dreaming about seal cubs last chapter. Polar bears usually don't eat the cubs I've found out. JFYI.
> 
>  


	3. Change in the Weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Predators and monks have patience in common.

**Change in the Weather**

Seals dive into the water. The ice is thick. They need to breathe. They're mammals. Not sure how whales do it, but they surface too. Seals might stay underwater for thirty minutes or more. The Polar Tang submerges for a lifetime in comparison, but not everything can be made of metal, Eustass Kid. Funny that Kid would sink but the Tang would continue to propel its way through the water. Not really funny. Law would sink if the water got in, and they'd be so deep who knows what chance of survival any of them would have. But you know, rival captains and all. Bling, bling, bling. Bepo can swim two minutes under non-crawling-the-bottom-of-the-ocean circumstances. It's long enough.

Claws. Seals got em strong. Not strong as a polar bear's, but you've got to dive into the water to get your food, the water freezes over, so you need some kind or respiratory periscope, y'know? Guess humans might call it a snorkel. But even for that periscope to work, it's still gotta force its way through ice.

The seal's claws and nose kinda conduct a tracheotomy on frozen water to open up breathing holes. Teeth sometimes. When everything ices over, splashes of water from surfacing create thin domes over these openings too. Seals push their furry heads through the cover coating their breathing holes to . . . well . . . breathe.

Sprays of water ripple the toffee thin glass inside. Dead giveaway. The sphere thickens and hardens over the winter, disappears from sight as the snow comes down, but a bear, a polar bear, can sniff out their scent and wait. Make their own pretend breathing hole next to it, and wait. Widen the seal's breathing hole and wait.

They're jumpy. Those aquatic parcels of blubber. Dash away at the click of claw on the hardened water. Just shows how centred, how concentrated, the predator can be when it needs to be.

Hearing. Smell. The seal's got it all. But get this. They exhale when they emerge. And the trajectory of emergence cannot be stopped. Too buoyant. That's when the polar bear plunges its head through the adjacent breathing hole.  _Surprise!_  Taking the mammal in its teeth. Okay,  _okay_ , maybe their heads are a bit too small for that. How about dragging the seal with ferocious paws from the seal's own widened haven. They're plump little buggers, and little has no place in the description. You try doing that, humans. _Without_ your weapons and magic.

Law's dome, the Polar Tang, both are like breathing holes in their own ways, except without juicy mammals pitching themselves to the waiting jaws of fate. Law was a bit on the skinny side. Not enough deposits there to see a bear through, really. It'd be more apt if he identified with a praying mantis. A ripped praying mantis. Eight days, the fat of a seal, it could see a bear through eight days. Though that was hardly enough. A shitload of rainy days to save up for in the Arctic.

Room was a dome, and when it was being used for good it ran out, or just when it was being used, really. It petered out eventually, and that was when the occupant, the user, the creator of this sphere was most vulnerable because he was spent. Room had its limits and any predator knew it, and sat (or not), baited, waited and streaked in, claws extended, when exhaustion won the day.

Maybe it'd be time to surface soon. They'd seen out the winter. Time to get a bit of sun. Stealth, being underwater, away from some dangers, gave them girth. Warming up, quick-blooded after playing in the spring winds and at least stretching their legs would renew alertness, crankiness, heightened ability to evade fine woven nets, marine ice breakers. Now they were roly-poly and indulgent. Easy prey. The sub had been submerged for too long.

Cora too, his dome — from what Law had told them; three threadbare kids and a bear on the drifts of Swallow Island many years ago — was a form of expression, it allowed secrets to spill safely. Breathing space. It maintained calm, silence, across Law's domain of grief across the cold and sleet of Minion Island. It let Law breathe, gave him the fruit that saved his life. While searching for the fruit and hospitals, Law told them, his white face buried against the cold wet black feathers of Cora's coat, trying to draw in air, and he was closer to the sky.

Some seals are lazy about their pups, easy prey for hunters, foxes and bears. Their young roam and they're easily taken. The family snuggles under the snow and homes are wrecked by the king hit of a polar bear looking for very easy prey.

Some are vigilant and the carers are taken down with the pups. Cora lost but Law was set free. A feathered seal.

A breathing hole. Home essentials, creating areas to grow in. Means of survival. Killing fields for those patient enough to wait, strong enough to break ice, clever enough to notice the patterns of the sea, the markings of habit.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **November 4th (Any Other Sunday) - What if?**  Let's start our AUs off with a classic canon divergence. Describe what happens to your character if one key event in their life turns out differently. (500 words)
> 
>  **November 5th (Monday Metaphors) - Weather.** Whether (har har) your character is like sunshine, bringing hope and joy to all they meet, or raining on everyone's parade, tell us something about your character using a weather event such as rain, a typhoon, or a storm. (200 words)
> 
> This one needs to be something longer, I think. I combined the above two word counts, and came in at about 140 over. I know Bepo's voice is OOC here. Playing more with concepts than character, perhaps. I've got a thing about the Polar Tang being submerged, and the physical representation of Law and Cora's fruits in use. It's explored a tiny bit in _Gimcracks_ (warnings apply), but I haven't really dived into it.
> 
> This is also continuing from the fact that Oda has said that Law's animal is the Spotted or Largha seal, and maybe later that he's also been represented as a snow leopard. Polar bears mostly eat Ringed seals, but they can eat Spotted seals.


	4. Scratches on the Paper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But yeah, when Bepo accidentally sliced through that thingy and sutured the wrong whammy...

**Scratches on the Paper**

It was just as well they learnt to slice and dice when Captain had his powers. Even if most of the young doctor's own practical experience wasn't practical. Observation, sure. Seeing his mother and father stem bleeding and bring down fevers. Watching people bleed and die. Reading. Which bone fit into which socket, which valve allowed blood to flow, which didn't. Which ink stroke strengthened the thread of life rather than weakened. Scratches on paper, veins under the skin.

Even though he'd stayed back for them, he couldn't save the ones he'd loved. And he'd tried. The Miraculous Story of the Boy Who Didn't. Even with the power he didn't know how to wield the power, so he doubled down. After another earth shattering failure. Doubled down to learn. To master. To  _apply_.

It wasn't like Doflamingo wanted a dumb crew. Subservient yes, but not dumb if dumb didn't come naturally. Especially if Law was to be a right hand man. It's not like a World Noble was ever known as uneducated. But each to their own strengths. Vergo wasn't stupid, but he was loyal. Rosi was his brother. Law was a doctor, the son of doctors. And he had no-one. That juicy bit of information crossed a 100 billion neurons of grey matter, calculating uses, abuses, and misuses of one so talented. The Donquixote crew could be clumsy. Someone always needed patching up. He saw to it that Law had the right books.

But yeah, when Bepo accidentally sliced through that thingy and sutured the wrong whammy and if the Room had not been up that would have signaled the end of the life of that subject, and the hapless patient wasn't even crew yet. Surviving Bepo's ministrations made him a prime candidate to be a Heart. If he could survive that — Room did not address the psychological — he could probably survive anything. Penguin and Shachi debated turning it into a hazing ritual.

Brains. Sixty percent of the brain is fat. The human brain. Seals were packed with blubber. Packed lunch for a polar bear like Bepo. Did brain fat work like blubber? Was it there to warm the body? Law was smart, semi-educated, wore that seal hat like a second skin, but perhaps it was extra-extra insulation. A literal brain-warmer. There was a reason why he was the boss of them.

So, if Bepo were to chow down on the crew he should probably go for their brains first if he was going to meet his body's needs for fat. He wondered if the brain fat differed depending on the smarts?

But then who'd tell him the difference between a speculum and a simulacrum? Between inoculation and inculcation, incubation? No-one else carefully folded the maps he designed, thumb pressing paw mark signature slightly, before slipping them into a pouch, leather soft with the crew's travels under and across the oceans. Penguin and Shachi only looked at his signature and not at the path.

Brains? Who needed them? Well, those who needed them needed them, and Bepo probably needed them, but not as the entrée to a more satisfying snack in an attempt to keep his metabolism steady. Captain could keep his brains and his unsteady education. It had got all of them this far so far. And Bepo's cartography might get them just that bit further.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **November 6th (Tuesday Choices) - Black or White.** Good and evil, night and day, Zekrom and Reshiram, or just which colour dress to wear to the party? (200 words)
> 
>  **November 7th (Worldly Wednesday) - Education.** What opportunities are there for learning in this setting? Are there any your character did or did not take advantage of? (400 words)
> 
> A little over 400 words for this one, I think. I'll probably rework it some.


	5. Placentas, Ire, Protectors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tales of the past, resin deep.

**Placentas, Ire, Protectors**

A rebirth of sorts, catching up with Captian on Zou and sailing with him to Wano. He was still rude. Still disregarded them. Didn't take them to see the ninja when all the Strawhat crew got to go. How Was that fair? Sure, they were twenty-strong, but surely Shachi, Penguin and Bepo were as important as the racoon dog, the cyborg and the sharp-shooter? As important as the samurai they had run into fuck knows where.

Not only that, but the Guardians of the Forest — the very forest the Hearts couldn't leave because they were pirates and relegated to a leafy nocturnal water world — guarded the Whale Tree, and within the Whale Tree resided Raizo, the Ninja. Good enough to protect others, but not good enough to see what they were protecting? Ah well, Bepo scratched under the collar of his jumpsuit, it was the way of minions everywhere. What was the point of resentment?

Captain got caught up in things for sure, but not really the petty stuff. Even so. They'd done some serious fighting in his absence. The Hearts. The Curly Hat Crew. The Minks. Chopper had helped them out with their injuries. Even that clown had. And they were severe. Especially Master Nekomamushi, and from what they'd heard, Duke Inuarashi.

Bepo, Shachi and Penguin had travelled with Law since meeting him on Swallow Island way back when. He knew how they felt about ninjas. They knew how Law felt about ninjas. Kinda lost his crumpled-paper-bag-abandoned-in-a-snow-storm sheen when they were mentioned. And they didn't laugh at him, because, ninjas! But he didn't invite them along.

At least they got to party with the Minks and the Strawhats. Luffy was a lot of fun. Maybe Captain could learn a bit about inclusivity. But it would be rude if they hadn't partied. Bepo was a Mink. Pedro had known his brother. Was one of the guardians of the forest and so guardian of Bepo and the crew while Law was away. They'd fought for Nekomamushi. For Bepo's country.

Bitching and moaning between them was easily wiped away, of little consequence, when they'd seen Law along the path, following the vivre card on his outstretched palm. Not a matter of _if_ it would happen, but _when_. After Strawhat fighting the forest Guardians, garbling Law's name, and letting them know that Captain was on the island, it was only a matter of time before he found them. And there he was He'd come back. Tired, bandaged, determined, but leaning with Bepo's life-squeezing hug, the kind to have you flat on your back if the crew hadn't told him to rein it in. The point was, he didn't shamble Bepo away, or himself. Walked close by as they entered the forest. Bepo could sense his heat, his warmth, the blood underneath his skin.

Captain's anger linked bone to tendon, bone to bone. Didn't get in the way of function, was crucial for function, until it snapped. Rather than debilitate him, it propelled him forward, but it was preferable he did so without serious tears to ligaments and filigreed threads. He could be yelly but was usually calm. Seemed he got a bit yelly with the Strawhats. It  _was_  like being swarmed by bumptious hornets. Bepo got that. They were fun though.

Doflamingo had a fine line in bait and switch too, and from what Law had told them, his needling was far superior to his own in terms of the harm he'd willingly inflict, especially upon a disloyal inferior. The switch more likely to be a cat 'o' nine tails. Law's bait and switch just put you on a different part of the sub. They'd not had much disloyalty among them. Bepo wondered what the punishment might be. Immersion in a barrel full of bread crumbs?

"You defeated Doflamingo!"

"Mugiwara did." Law steadied his backpack, tugged down his shirt. No frustration in the reply. A statement of facts. And as Bepo leant in blocking out the twenty crew members who wanted to do the same, he knew there was more to it. Law's eyes had flickered up to the patch on Bepo's cheek and Bepo's own landed on the bandage around Law's arm. They wouldn't get back the families they'd lost. One night Pedro sat down and told him about his big brother.

One guardian replaced the next, just as Law had used his power to heal him from the kicks and punches from Shachi and Penguin's own steel capped feet and mean pinched hands, that had laid into him for talking and walking. And just as Law and Bepo had gone on to save the orphaned boys from major injury. All before they'd had a chance to reach adulthood. But they did reach it.

Law couldn't have done that without Cora, without his family. The loss of one family, one town, everyone he knew rocketed him into an anger that saw a ten year old easily slice a grown man, saw him wear grenades like garlands. In intention. He was a bit lacking in delivery, but it wasn't a minor wound. Not a weak threat.

The loss of that same man concentrated anger into something quietly able to protect a life. The resin that pooled to form the other kind of amber. Law's powers packed a bucket load of bling, but his anger was reduced to its core elements. Rescuing a shaking Mink from the cold, removing a slave collar from a former pirate captain and offering both safe haven. Knowing how to address the man. Refusing to address those who demanded respect on the skull-end of a bamboo staff, under the weight of a jackboot.

His anger was still healthy, Bepo could sense it. Still directed against those who multiplied wrongs against wrongs and manipulated them in perpetuity. But maybe the memory of another man who'd lain in the snow knowing no help was coming could now push their Captain forward rather than embed him in the past.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **November 8th (Thoughtful Thursday) - Rebirth**. A moment when your character's life and outlook totally changed. (100 words)  
>  **November 9th (Friday Feelings) - Anger**. You wouldn't like them when they're angry... probably. What makes your character mad and how do they deal with those feelings? (200 words)  
>  **November 10th (Saturday Relations) - Guardians**. Someone protected your character, whether their parents, mentor, or simply a friend. What does your character think about this protector now? (400 words)
> 
> **Just under a thousand words** , so about 300 over, even with those combined word counts. I know I've covered some of this territory before. Fanfiction is nothing if not circular. Thanks for reading, and all feedback is appreciated.
> 
> There's a novel of Law's life in between Minion and Swallow, when he meets Bepo, Shachi and Penguin. I discovered it when I finished this. It's not written by Oda, but would be endorsed, because it's in the magazine. A translation can be found [here](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1DvSuS4am9PWjVQ3PFExaacMIfsKNXmRTG0j0Y6dlWxU/edit). Thanks to the fabulous person who translated it. Scroll up for part one.


	6. Everything is Food until it's a Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bepo does not turn into a mermaid.

**Everything is food until it's a friend.**

The whole crew had turned into cats.  _Not._  Mermaids.  _Nix_. Gender swap?  _No_. How about sea mammals. Yay! Not beyond the confines of the imagination of one who _preys_  on sea mammals. And birds. That's if penguins were in the North Pole and polar bears were in the South, or both at the same time.

Look. The Arctic caps are melting. Hunting grounds are decreasing. White bears swim in the ocean, rising underneath sea birds in an attempt to eat them.

News Coo. What if all of the Heart crew turned into News Coo? A bit of an insult, bunch of scavengers. But News  _Cool_ could do it, cos if the Hearts were anything, that's what they were. Cool, baby, cool, and Law had a habit of landing in the news. Careless. Bepo dusted down the sleeves of his Jolly-very-Rogered Haori. Captain did the crewel work. So talented.

They  _were_  sea mammals, the Hearts. And birds. And urchins. Orphans and urchins and also spiky urchins that lived on the surface of the ocean. Not all the salt that exuded from the tragic Heart pirates came from tears, though it couldn't be denied they'd all had hard lives. It was okay to cry sometimes. And to secrete salt. If you were a slug. Or a sea urchin. Which some of them were.

That was Uni. Penguin would probably eat him. Clione was a beautiful glittering sea slug – an underwater dragonfly. Those babies sure didn't live up to their name, but were a tasty snack for some perverted humans,  _Captain._  He certainly had his quirks. He couldn't handle the taste of umeboshi, that pickle signifying the pride of their world, the heart of their nation, the sun in the sky, yet consuming slimy sea urchins and slugs . . . yeah, no explaining some folk. Ugh.

But, push come to shove, Bepo figured he could eat those. He cleaned under his nails with a clattering of his teeth. black lips rippling like currents raked over sand. He ate seaweed when he was driven to. Captain too, but you know, Law was an omnivore. He ate it  _before_  other things. Bepo figured he was partly an omnivore too, but doubted he could survive on seaweed. Needed a few carcasses every now and then. Closer to alive than not was preferable.

He wondered if a nut diet would do it for him. Ikkaku was a narwhal. How much protein was in that horn? Ah, she was a chick. Well, she probably attracted the horny males. Hah! Bepo's belly rumbled under the black of the pads on his paws. Too funny for his own good. Seals ran away from narwhals because they thought they were Killer whales. Though he'd never seen Captain run from either Ikkaku or Shachi.

Shachi. Lol. Sure, he knew how to fight. Captain wouldn't have someone on his crew who didn't, but they were healers, the Hearts, not hell raisers. Except Captain. And that one time, okay two . . . okay quite a few fucking times they had fun throwing a marine heads around, and beating up on Gifters, and helping out Kid. Yeah, remember that? You couldn't be twenty-deep in a sub and not get into fisticuffs every now and then. Bepo scratched at the back of his twitching ear. He guessed they were badass. Whatever that meant.

So, let's see, weapon of choice to match this new genre of Heart adventure where they all turned into the animals they were. Wild. Wild animals  _Rrraw_. Salt. Made a meal delicious but dehydrated sea slugs in an instant, even though they lived in the sea, Bepo supposed. Didn't really make sense. You could knock a devil off your left shoulder by throwing a pinch of it behind you. Baby mounds piled by doorways chased away evil spirits. Throw it in someone's eyes and they'd be more than blinking. You could really ruin a meal by leaving the lid on the shaker a little too loose and watch some poor chump go hungry cos there was more salt than boiled egg on their plate. Bepo exhaled. Maybe he could eat sea urchins. He shook his head.

Clione had a nudibranch eye. Lol. Luffy said he'd trailed all around Whole Cake Island with someone called Branch. Bepo wonder if she was a nudibranch too. That kid got into the weirdest situations. Maybe cliones weren't nudibranchs. Captain really should have studied biology instead of medicine, then they'd know what they were eating. Or better yet, studied culinary skills under Blackleg. Captain's deftness with a knife, Sanji's skill with seasoning, they were a match made in heaven.

Bepo pulled his Haori to. Thank goodness they'd got out of that succulent sinking earth, and had avoided Kaido's fireball. Surrounded by members of the ninja-pirate-mink-samurai alliance, he cast an eye. He couldn't eat Carrot because she was a Mink. And he couldn't eat his friends because they'd helped him. He wondered if his sea mammal and avian and mollusc brethren were struck with such conundrums on such a regular basis. Maybe only Luffy, and typical that he  _was_  rubber. Was he organic or synthetic? Bepo'd avoided enough oil slicks in his life to know anything petroleum based didn't taste too good and could be lethal. Processed food wasn't really his thing, though it was a mainstay on the sub. Of course. Even so, Bepo admired Luffy's pragmatic side. Everything was food until it was a friend. Then such desires were relegated to dirty little secrets, locked down and kept well and truly hidden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **November 11th (Any Other Sunday) – 'New genre' AU**. What if your slice of life romantic drama was actually a noir murder mystery? Or your epic fantasy characters suddenly found themselves in a superhero story? Supernatural, sci fi, space opera, western, dystopia, horror, cyberpunk… With so many great genres to explore, let's see how your characters handle a genre shift! (500 words)  
>  **November 12th (Monday Metaphors) - Animals**. Maybe your character has the heart of a lion? Perhaps they're trying their best to avoid the elephant in the room? Is someone using them as a sacrificial lamb? They're being set up by a kangaroo court, they— Alright, sorry. I guess I'm just flogging a dead horse at this point. (200 words)  
>  **November 13th (Tuesday Choices) – Weapon of Choice**. Whether that's a physical weapon, or something more mundane like the power of puppy-dog eyes, tell us what your character is fighting with today. (200 words)
> 
> It seems the Hearts are just designed for these prompts. Bepo goes stream of consciousness on us, but at least he didn't turn into a mermaid. This is about 18 words over those combined word counts.
> 
>  **Ikkaku** : Narwhal, **Shachi** : Orca or Killer whale, **Clione** : Sea slug, **Uni** : Sea urchin, **Law** : Largha or Spotted Seal (not that Law = those words). Oh, and I know (after research) that a Narwhal's 'horn' is actually a tooth, but then, so are tusks.


	7. Scarify

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That which is etched upon the skin. Marco/Law references.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marco/Law references, but Bepo's still the man.

**Scarify**

"Gotta scarify the skin."

"Yeah, look, there are points when Law shoots a look, and y'know,  _everything_  shrivels up more than wearing budgie smugglers into the surf. You Hearts can be spooky mofos." Even Bepo. Especially when he was wielding a miniature two-pronged pitchfork.

"Budgie what?" Bepo prepared the inoculation. Delivered by a bifurcated needle.

"Birds. You know, like canaries and budgerigars. Smugglers — undies."

"Why're you stepping into the water with a feathered freak down your pants?" He gestured for Marco to roll up his sleeve, and swabbed the upper arm.

"Sometimes you can't help it when Doflamingo's in the room"

Bepo didn't laugh. The blond shrugged. Law would've got his joke. Lived it. Scarified him. Just like Bepo was doing. Maybe the Hearts made it a habit to frighten the bejeebus out of everyone just by being knowledgeable and shit. Who told you they were going to scare you when you were already shitting your pants? Away from battle and barfights and abuse?

"Nah – it's slang, colloquial and all. You know, to leave a country with illegal animals, rare and exotic creatures, you stuff them down your undies? Your tighty-whities? If you're in the smuggling trade."

Bepo nodded. All wisdom. The things you learnt. Thanked his lucky stars he was too big to fit down the jocks of most living beings. Let him  _not_  run into any perverted giants.

"And there are other things in your shorts if you're a man, right?" Marco said.

Bepo peered down the gap of his jumpsuit. The Whitebeard wasn't sure how it worked for Minks. He looked out to the ocean. Blue skies, whitecapped waves.

The Hearts had set up a clinic on their sub for any wastrels and vagabonds in the area in need of a shot or two. Not the alcoholic variety, though that was how many of them did end up all shot up – with dope, not bullets. And Marco, despite being a healer, wasn't fully protected against everything. Relying on his fruit too much at times. He needed an excuse to see Law anyway.

"So budgie smugglers are like those really tight-fitting swimwear briefs. And when you step into the water with those on, the boys shrivel from the cold."

"You keep boys in your pants?"

"Bepo. Keep Doflamingo out of this! Thought he'd traumatised this crew for life." The bear had a fine line in flippancy when it came to his captain's nemesis.

"Nah, captain spared us."

That explained it. Marco's skin goose-pimpled. The breeze had a chill to it, and Bepo was brandishing a needle. Yeah, Law had that martyr streak. Just willing to make another crew fodder instead. Though, as they debriefed — words, plans, underwear — Marco'd learnt all about a plan gone awry

"Wedding tackle, junk, you know. Anyway, speaking of which, Law can shoot you a look to make everything, all of it, wither. Like a prune. Desiccated like a coconut."

Bepo laughed. All you had to do was hug him. He peered down his jumpsuit again. Only hair and everything else tucked neatly away. Maybe a pair of coconuts. Marco sure kept some weird things in his underwear. Was it like a boy scout motto?  _Be prepared_. Hoped he wasn't all flaky like desiccated sweets down there. And what did shooting looks have to do with getting an injection?

"We still gotta scarify the skin. Even though you're self-healing it's best to be inoculated against everything, just for those moments when you're in seastone, or you know, Caesar unleashes bio-warfare again."

"The fuck?"

"The needle does all the work, but it breaks the skin. Gotta prod it fifteen times. It's for the greater good."

"That's called scarification?"

"Yup. Only with old time diseases. The ones that wipe out entire populations."

"That how Law got his reputation?"

"As a top-notch physician?"

"As a scarifying motherfucker."

Language didn't really shake Bepo. And, well yeah, if Law was gonna immunise the crew and other citizens and reprobates he'd have to scarify them. He even scarified a few marines along the way. If he'd sliced off an arm and he noticed it wsn't up to date with its shots, he'd whip out the needle, if he had it handy, and sometimes he did, (that one time they raided the clinic), and he'd have them all World-Government-Health-Organisation up to date. Did a better job _than_ the World Government, to Bepo's mind.

The navigator warned against it though. Could be someone with a bad reaction among them. Bodies, they could reassemble. Adverse reactions, anaphylactic shocks, they couldn't necessarily reverse.

True. Captain might have started being regarded as creepy by the ignorant soon after announcing his intent to scarify the citizens of that small town, all wheezing, coughing and crawling from some virus. Years ago now. The doc, holding a syringe, or other kind of needle, gleam in his handsome eyes, efficient grin tight across his lips, could be kinda intimidating. Didn't help he'd flipped off whatever god wasn't looking over these folk.

Someone had taken a picture and distributed it. The townsfolk all scrambled to get away from him, but were too weak. They thanked him later. But yeah, he probably could do with some PR lessons. That picture was taped to the inside of Bepo's locker, and not only his.  He wasn't the only one to touch his fingers to it in reverence each morning and night, either.

Fifteen times to prick the skin was a lot for a baby to take, but Marco was a fully-grown man, a hero of the New World. Still, they always flinched. These mighty pirates. Those powerful admirals. Cried at the trickle of blood sometimes. Shachi had blubbed like a child.

A framed photo of Law (charismatically ominous, and not the same one as in Bepo's locker) sat on the makeshift table with the medical supplies. The Hearts were jabbing anyone who wandered up and asked. Marco and Law were a pair, right? And pairs gained stress relief by looking at one another, right? The Phoenix stared at the sky, the birds, not at Bepo's agile paws. He had his areas of strength and resolve.

"All done." A massive furred hand delicately placed a loose gauze over the vaccination. "Keep that on for a day or two. Then replace. Make sure the air can get in. When it scabs, don't pick off the crust." And eat it. No, it wasn't a booger. Just don't pick it off at all. He didn't preach. It was wasted breath. He knew the habits of these motherless seadogs.

Marco nodded, rolled down his sleeve, stood, and both men walked to the basin, washed their hands. "Thanks, man." Bear? Mink? Bepo? He patted the part of Bepo's arm he could reach, and wandered off to find the surgeon.

* * *

What he couldn't have known, whether he was paying attention or not, was that Bepo scarified the skin into a heart, as he did for all their patients, even the marines.

Marco noticed, back on the island, safeguarding Whitebeard's memory, and the people of the village. The scabs defined it neatly like specks of gravel. Healed now, he placed a hand over the scar, knowing it made Law laugh; Bepo etching the Heart design into his skin without his knowledge. Except it was Heart protocol. Tracing the tiny design, as he stared out at a village child traipsing the path to his hut, didn't replace the man, but recalled him. Shallow incisions in the skin, reinforcing, protecting against wear and tear, sudden attack, foolish death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got my own prompt with this one. Playing with multiple word meanings, yet again. I think this is about 1K. Maybe this could be a follow on from _[Payback](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15176651)_. Law and Marco managing to meet up in between Wano and whichever island Marco's currently camped out on. Obviously an AU.


	8. Bioluminescence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shachi was the palm-reader of the crew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Background:** Ah, the _Repossession_ world seeps into Bepo's Drabbles. Okay, basically an AU. Law was kept by Doflamingo and a resurrected Vergo in _Repossession_ after Dressrosa as a prisoner and slave. He was also recaptured in that story after Cora's death. Penguin and Law met in different circumstances in that AU, and met Shachi later than in canon.
> 
> This is set aboard the Polar Tang, though, long after escape and rescue, and all is almost well in the world.

 

* * *

**Bioluminescence**

* * *

Shachi was the palm reader of the crew. The tattooist. The old wives tale spinner. The dowser. The one who looked to the stars not only for navigation, but the future. Stared at fluorescent ocean dwellers when the sub was submerged and imagined Venus, Mars, Jupiter, star clusters floating by. It was like drifting through space sometimes.

Law looked at him part the hair on Bepo's paw, burrowing deep to the hide to eke out the future, squinting at the dark lines cracked into his pads.

Shachi's palm-reading got Law through his captivity, in part, the day the marines raided. Looking down, not much of a captain, surrounded by grunts, a lone man on a lone chair, Doflamingo's captive. The Family had flown into battle. Staring at his hand he reconfirmed that his life line continued, even if his fate line was staggered for sure. It almost vanished at the point where he guessed his childhood ended – when he was thirteen – maybe earlier when the World Government had levelled Flevance. Very faint until he'd fled Doflamingo three years after Cora's death when he was sixteen, strengthening until Dressrosa, where it almost disappeared again, splintering into a few branches. Two years of incarceration.

The marines fought to arrest his captors, and arrest him, not realising he was both prisoner and pirate. With an artillery trained on him, chipped with seastone, he had no way of fighting back. They were the slightly lesser of two evils. Rather than stare down an armada, he moved his eye over his fate line, which ducked below the head line and started a new — always jagged — path to the heart line, finishing past it. The heart line itself forked in places. As for his life line, he'd seen shorter. He used to laugh at Shachi's pronouncements. But fuck they'd got him through.

He couldn't be sure, he'd need Hawkins to confirm, and he never had, but he took heart, Cora's goofy giggling bazooka-laden heart, he held a strange kind of faith, in the fate line finishing strongly. The ragged indentations crossing the heart line eventually creased into a Sandora River of a stroke. Not quite as winding, but converged into an eventual solid body, not a series of tributaries.

And here he relaxed with his crew below the waters, many years past Doflamingo and the marines, not sure where they were heading, but safe for now. He'd outlived his own mythology so far, of being born under an unlucky star. Without that star he probably wouldn't have met Ikkaku, now drumming some fucking annoying rhythm with a wooden spoon against the table, Penguin chiming in with spoons. They were hopeless, but getting better. They'd meet up with the Strawhats here and there, and the two of them and Brook wove notes and beats throughout the night. It was fun.

Uni and Clione argued over a point in a tatty magazine article, but side-eyed Shachi while Law side-eyed them, waiting for their turn. Shachi swore on his dead mother's (bless her soul) lucky rabbit's foot (bless its soul) (that was Bepo), that what he foresaw was true and real and bona fide so  _deep_  into the other side it was practically out of it. His predictions were always positive, so that helped. He'd only warned Law once, and in retrospect he should've listened.

He'd never given Bepo false hope over his brother, changing the topic to the Mink's karate kick, the help he gave the crew, the way he so skilfully governed them under the water, his indispensable role as Captain's cushion.

Jean Bart looked on from a corner, recognising the imprisoned in Law, even if he was now resting comfortably with his gang. They couldn't leave the sub any time they liked, of course, especially when it was underwater, but once on land, within reason of being a working crew, wanted by the world government and pirates alike, they were free.

He guessed it wasn't strange that Law found safety from captivity in another kind. Even though he couldn't float, with his powers he had better chance of survival on the surface if the vessel he was on sank. In the sub there was nowhere to go if the water rushed in, but so far they'd made their destinations safely. And there was no deliberate humiliation or cruelty on the ship. If it arose, Law shot it down pretty quickly. They all worked well together.

Security of one's own making was a different creature from being shackled for being a low-blood, a lowlife, for being desired. Pirates weren't saints, but slavehood, man. Who deserved that? He'd follow Law to the end.

Shachi assured Clione enough booze and brothels and Captain's scoldings, when he contracted whatever he was bound to, when they hit the next town. Law raised his eyebrows as he turned a page.

Uni would eventually find a family, though Shachi never said  _his_ family. At the next town, or very soon, there was a good chance that the specialised mechanical part he needed to geewhiz the geegaw he obsessed over in his spare time would be available.

The crew drifted off, one by one. Captain was always last. They left the rec room/kitchen tidy as they went to the baths, on watch, to the engine room, to work out. Bepo shook out a tea towel, hung it on the drying rack.

"Night, Captain."

"Bepo."

Jean Bart lumbered to his special room — just comfortable enough for the size of the man. Shachi drew his cards to him, clacked runes into their pouch, gathered all the methods he used to work his way into his mates' psyches.

Law stood. Brought over the bottle from his table and a shot glass he'd been nursing, half full. His thumbprints smeared the glass.

"Shach."

The redhead looked up. Captain had aged. The idea of tiredness never left him, even when Shachi first met him, but he was still sharp. Law pulled out a chair, legs scraping across the floor, and sat opposite.

"Read my palm. It's been a while."

Shachi tried to read Law. He'd never stopped being dependable. Even when he left them. Even when he needed them. He'd healed after being freed from Doflamingo, escaping the marines, but it took time. Healed through his own powers and with Marco's help, the Strawhats, with the help of their own team of course. His spirit could be ground down, comatose, subdued, yeah, but not fucking beaten. Even when Law had thought it was.

Shachi nodded and pushed the tools of clairvoyance to the side. He stood and brought over a glass from the kitchenette. Had been drinking tea. Captain poured two fingers. They clinked drinks. It wasn't a competition. Each sipped and returned the glasses to the table.

Law offered the hand that Vergo had ruined. When they'd first got him back, not even Law had known if it could be permanently healed. It was functional, but painful. Chopper, Law himself, then later Marco and Law in conjunction, using their powers, had brought it back into the fully operative, flexible, not fucked up. Over time. Over years.

Memory was another thing, though. Shachi sometimes saw Law curl the hand, his fingers, as if just having gripped the rim of a saucepan on high boil.

He sat next to Law so he could see the lines properly, and ran his thumb over the marked up skin, his fingers running under Law's hand, like tightening a cravat clasp, but far more measured. Law folded his fingers over the thumb as it reached the top. In thanks.

Shachi brought his fingers from beneath and pressed them over that fold.

The redhead sipped his drink before letting go. Law released his thumb. Even when he was a mess, Captain was well turned out. His goatee at this end of the day and his sideburns, neat, clipped, defining.

Law now clasped his hands in front of him. Not much use to Shachi. The nails on one hand were ridges. He glanced at his friend, then returned his gaze to the table.

"Your words saw me through, Shachi. It was horrible. The imprisonment. I'd be sorry to the crew, of course, if they took me out — the marines or the Family, myself — but some days I couldn't think of a better solution."

Shachi didn't know what to say. Law's words were worse than Bepo zapping him with electro, so he took his hand again — he'd wanted it read, no? — flattened the palm and studied the lines.

He was happy to see that the fate line continued, still. No sudden changes. Just more deeply grooved. More deeply gouged. Still jagged, breathy and feathered, but he didn't need an eyepiece to locate it anymore. There were many paths to follow, choose. Was a jumbled mess at points, but those paths were existent.

"Still there, boss."

Like a candle flame adjusting its course in the wake of someone brushing past, relief landed on Law's face and alit as abruptly. Unrecognised. Wrong carriage. Of course.

"Where we at on my palm now? What point of life?"

"Onward and upwards?"

Law laughed. Drank.

"Shachi. Really. I've cheated death, ridden with it, been riddled with it, and caught rides away from it so often, that, well, you know, we're the best of friends." Law turned the hand Shachi wasn't poring over, flashing his finger tats. "But I'd prefer it didn't take me just yet."

"Not yet, captain." He tapped the fate line where it crossed the heart, and went beyond. Law's heart line also with a number of breaks in it. He loved hard whoever he loved, and he didn't say no to love, though he could get shaky about intimacy. Especially post those two years.

Shachi pressed down on a point. "Marco."

Law didn't need that confirmed.

Shachi continued tracing the line. There were those he'd lost in the past. Lammy. His mother, his father. Cora. The ones walked away from with mutual decision. Penguin, Luffy. Marco seemed a stopping point though.

"Does it hurt still, your hand?"

Law lifted his glass again. Shachi too. His assessment of Shachi — the kid he'd known almost as long as Penguin — was kind. "Remember how cold we were, trying to find shelter when we were young? Has an ache like that sometimes. A chill. Thing is, I don't think it's physical."

Law 's scan of his muscles and his nerves showed them at a hundred percent, but snow drifts still blocked blood vessels at times.

Shachi understood.

"Goes when you and Marco work together?"

Law nodded. It melted right away. He took off his hat and placed it on the table. Scratched at his hair. "Yeah, but it takes some effort to work both our fruits."

"You worried about it?" Shachi turned Law's hand so he could follow the other lines more clearly.

"Just want to believe things will be okay for some of the time, some of the time."

"You know they will," Shachi said, without even needing to see any of the lines mapped on Law's skin.

Of course it'd been a kid's foolish hope to think he'd survive amber lead, that Cora would survive being shot, that Lammy would beat amber lead, be safe in the closet, that marines were good people, that Sister and his classmates would live, that Vergo was a good person. Out of it all, he'd beaten amber lead. Oh, and there were a few good marines. Couldn't eat, hug or hold his own health. But it did make things taste good, let him hold people. When he wanted. If they wanted. If they were alive.

"We won't go, Captain." Shachi studied the hand again. He knew it so well, he didn't really need to. He also didn't need to see the lines to know his words were true. Shachi'd lost his own parents, Penguin too, Bepo his brother. There'd come a time when they'd obviously move onto other things, when Law had succeeded further, supported more, subverted deeper. But they'd always be there. "Nothing's going to take us."

"You don't know that."

And Shachi, of all people, knew Law was right; that wave rising to wipe away the chicken and fish and prawns his family had just thrown on the grill, and then wiping away his family too. It was the first time he was blessed and cursed to be the tearaway he was – running wild in the forest some ways from the shore. He later learnt the same tsunami had orphaned Penguin.

"No. And your palm doesn't know it. But to the best of our abilities, we'll be here." He continued tracing the skin, studying the lines. "You okay, Cap?"

Law nodded. "Yeah. Just might not be alive without you, Shachi. I know the Family's as weird as fuck, and there's no way Doflamingo would put any weight into the words of a necromancer – I mean, why would he have to when he had someone like Viola on crew? – but he was superstitious about the Will of D, about destiny, the role of Celestial dragons."

Shachi filled Law's glass. Tipped a little into his own.

"I know from medicine, and studies, and people I've met, that the best way through is to take each and every moment as an opportunity to accept, change, or that could change. If things were pre-destined, I'd be the Heart executive. I'd be dead, willingly sacrificed to Doflamingo's ego."

Law took his palm back and cradled the now healed hand like he used to. A little boat for its poor damaged fingers.

"I've gone through things that defy logic and emotional rationale." He glanced at Shachi. He knew he wasn't the only one.

Shachi listened. A good guide always listened.

"You can't approach some things with logic and rationale except to be fucking terrified and angry. So, there were tiny, quiet moments. Those seconds when mice scrabble behind skirting boards, 'cept you're not sure if it's your head fucking with you, tormenters, or actual mice. Mind scrabble. Anyway, they were there. Those moments. Not often. But moments without anyone in the room. Those moments allowed me as much me as captivity could.

Law was permanently marked up. Shachi knew there'd been few moments where he'd been let alone. Good behaviour, whatever in the name of fucked-upness that meant, let him perambulate the pensione grounds, always chipped, bands on his wrists ready for fettering. The veneer of freedom, which was why the marines'd had their guns trained on him.

"When I freed my mind I had an emptiness, liberty? I guess. I reached that elevation, that detachment at times, when I left the world."

Shachi didn't want to think about that either. He folded and unfolded the tie to the cloth that held his cards.

"At other times, when I thought it would never stop, even when there was no-one in the room, in front of me, after Vergo screwed my hand up, I'd lie in bed, gripping my bad hand with my good, shaking, and practising Room. With that chip in, but practicing." As curved into himself as he could be so the cameras wouldn't see the movement, his lips move. The derision, the punishment if they caught sight was guaranteed.

Law's blunted nails ran back and forth over the table. He just needed to talk. It had been years.

"I'd try to focus on my life beyond the confines of what I'd already lived, was living, was told, and it gave me breathing space, Shachi. It didn't return me to normal, cos fuck knows, taking flight got ground out of me, but I'd follow my palm, the lines on my palm, my thumb navigating them like the Polar Tang below the waves. I'd read about a life, my life, beyond the attempts to control it by others, and it just kept branching out."

Law remembered, waiting for the door to push open. His lines. No-one else had his palmar creases. They could try to own him as much as they liked, but no-one had those.

Law threw his jackal grin Shachi's way, blinding the darkness from his eyes. "These creases reached beyond Lammy, the burning hospital . . . you know the story, my stories. Beyond being thrown back into all that like the bearer of the plague. I'd look at my palm, or feel it, in the way you'd taught me, told me, and it went on."

Bitching about bread or umeboshi was usually tuned out, but Law rarely, as they'd grown older, sat down and asked for reassurance. That's what a palm-reader gave. A doctor too. Shachi looked to the porthole, saw Venus shooting past, the teeth and light of a Lantern fish, a smattering of nudibranchs, drifting seaweed, even this low, shouting a warning.

You couldn't see all the creatures. Some didn't have the ability to produce bioluminescence. Others used photophores to blend into their environment, tuning into the light above and matching the hue so the hunters below needed telescopes to locate them. Shachi wondered at the unseen hiding from the sub.

Law spat up a shower of sparks and quivers at times when Doflamingo held him, but it only attracted a feeding frenzy. He was chipped. And so Law melded with the surface. It didn't save him from harm, except to lessen it when Doffy was feeling generous, but it did protect organs of self-recognisance, the lines on his palm that he was born with, that developed in his mother's womb.

On the surface, on paper, on his posters, he was a slave, a scourge, a subordinate. His palm, his crew, told him otherwise. Shachi. Law kept the news to himself, fed the news to himself, under all those labels, under the covers when they allowed him a bed, away from surveillance; tracing the corrugation, the curvature, of his hand, in order to keep a little hold of himself. Who he was, what he had been, what he was yet to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thanks for reading**. Paragraphs 3-5 have been slightly altered, but first appear in _Gimcracks_ , chapter 24, (Black Velvet Bandit).  
>  **[Studies in Miniature - Daily Prompts November 2018](https://www.reddit.com/r/FanFiction/comments/9t7xjn/studies_in_miniature_daily_prompts_november_2018/):**  
>  **November 14th - November 16, November 19-25**. 
> 
> ****  
>  **2900 words to play with**. I'm not very good at daily prompts, though that's not true, check out my other drabble collection which is an actual drabble collection. This is just over 3000 words. 
> 
> Oh, I'm also sure that submarines do not have portholes, but I love the idea of the Polar Tang having them, looking out into a magical, underwater world.


	9. Ozoni - Heart Pirates' New Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Law considers whether the goodwill of his crew outweighs the possibility of getting his hands crushed under the force of a mallet. Then again, no-one was as clumsy as Cora, and he'd survived him.
> 
> The crew makes mochi without the help of Katakuri, and argues over which region has the best ozoni (new year soup).

* * *

**Ozoni**

* * *

"Nah man, you gotta use the soy broth."

"Salt."

"Miso."

Ikkaku, Bepo, Shachi and Penguin jostled by the cupboards shelving the ingredients for the stock needed for any soup, and especially needed for special New Year's ozoni.

Ikkaku peered down at Bepo's chicken-scrawl recipe, complete with pictures.

"And what's with the shape of that omochi? Why's the rice-cake all square?"

Bepo rolled his eyes and folded his arms against his coverall. There was a reason his was a different colour. That being that he _was_ just about the only sane one on the sub, including Captain. Captain was a bit better than the others. He granted him that.

"What's up with that round piece of shit?" He pointed a claw toward the ripped out magazine page Ikkaku clutched. It had pencilled-in adjustments to the ingredients and method.

"Represents peace and harmony. How about boring old squares?"

"Dunno, but tastes good."

Shachi and Penguin were trying to get down the huge bag of mochi flour without spilling it all over the kitchen floor. They didn't know why captain got so pissed when it happened. All he had to do was use Takt or Shambles and everything was hunky dory. Screw his surgeon sensibilities about being wary of anything that'd been on the floor too long. They were in a sub. Where were they going to find replacements?

"Quit quibbling, they taste the same, either one will do," Shachi yelled over his shoulder.

"You gotta bake it too, to make the soup taste good. What's your take on that,  _bear_?"

Ooh. Bepo sucked air behind his teeth, and Shachi and Penguin rested against the counter to watch the show, the sack of flour behind them.

"You what? Waste of time. Plus, it's delicious all gooey and hot in the broth."

Ikkaku walked to the basin to wash up. Shachi turned her recipe in his hands. "You use white miso? Ordinary stuff isn't good enough for you?"

"Your soup's just from seaweed and fish flakes? How's that mean to sustain you?" she threw back.

"And red bean paste soup?! Man, where are you from?" Penguin riled up Clione, who'd just walked in with Uni. "Don't like that sweet shit."

Clione picked up Bepo's recipe from  the counter, trying to get some tips from his scribbles. He had worse handwriting than Law, and he wasn't a doctor, so he had no excuse, except that he didn't have opposable thumbs. "Can tell you came from somewhere well off. Roe and oysters in your soup? La-de-dah."

"I eat things that live in the ocean," Bepo growled. Came out like a squeak. Shachi rubbed his fur. See if Bepo would let Clione know where the azuki beans were.

"It's not easy gathering the mountain vegetables either, you know, and who doesn't love a hundred thousand varieties of mushroom?" Uni's two bits worth. Really, fern fronds and shimeji were the best. But he sat at the table, sipping a cup of coffee rather than doing anything about seeing if they had some dried produce.

"Me. It's a clear, purifying time of the year. Vegetables easy to acquire without going on an alpine hike should be enough." Who was that captain wannabe? Must be one of the newer guys.

"They use walnuts in some places too." Jean Bart's voice was quieter than you'd expect, considering everyone had to move around him and he was in a far corner.

"Get outta here." It was probably the Celestial Dragons that had such an extravagant and dare they say imported kind of soup.

Law wandered into the kitchen. The ozoni from his region was simple. A soup with a miso base, the glutinous rice cake placed inside, and bonito fish flakes sprinkled over top. He preferred the salt based broths, but this kept everyone warm in the cold Flevance winters, and reminded him of sitting at the kitchen table on New Year's day with his family, eating all the foods that brought them good luck and a long life.

"Correct me if I'm wrong." He sat at the table, Kikoku to his side. The kitchen grew quiet, though Ikkaku and Bepu snatched their recipes from one another's hands. Clione, Uni, Shachi and Penguin knew the style from their regions off by heart.

Jean Bart let go of Shachi's collar. Shachi was grateful for that. The big guy knew his strength. He didn't know why he'd challenged him on the walnuts. The walls of the sub got a little close at times.

"We're twenty-one people, no?"

"Is a Mink a person, Cap?"

Law and Bepo both nodded.

"The question is, is a person a hairless Mink?" Bepo shot back.

Law had just got them to quiet over New Year food. He wasn't going to let them get into their biological determinism debate. He spoke quickly, shutting Penguin down.

"The question is how many days of the New Year do we eat ozoni?"

"Three," everyone,  _everyone_  replied. At least they could agree on that.

"Three different recipes and broths and shapes and styles for each three days. More if you like. We've got the mochi flour, right?"

Jean Bart nodded. After eating only bread and water and a few eggs for sustenance as a slave, any form of ozoni was luxury for him, and also something that brought him back to happier moments of childhood. He'd just picked Shachi up because he was being annoying.

"We've got enough water to have a bit of a celebration, and to see us through to the next island? Enough rice?"

Uni did a few mental calculations. "Yup."

Law cast an eye over the kitchenware. Steamers, saucepans, kettles, pots and pans. They were set.

"What I'd give to have Katakuri on crew," Clione muttered, wondering how they'd shape all the different types of omochi. But, each pirate seemed to be an expert at the speciality from their region. Daifuku would be handy as well. He guessed he just produced the red bean omochi on order.

"Yeah, cos that family's so functional," Law said.

"Just saying, Cap. Not switching loyalties or anything."

Law kept a stare he didn't really feel, the curve of his lip betraying him. He guessed when Katakuri was in a good mood, he would be very handy to have around at New Year. He'd heard how Luffy had to eat his way out of most battles. It didn't surprise him. Whole Cake Island must have been heaven in many ways for that crew. He couldn't trust his own crew much more around sweet things, delicious dishes.

"Set up a roster. You all know how to feed a passel of people. Get to it."

They all exchanged glances when Ikkaku turned over her recipe to show the crew the picture of a group of people pounding omochi on the back. Oh, how they missed that, and they were twenty (plus one) strong. Perfect for a community event.

"Captain?"

"Bepo."

"We gotta do mochitsuki, then the mochi will be the freshest and everyone can join in."

Shachi and Penguin both raced over, arms braced on the table, in Law's face. "Yeah, yeah. We can use the empty sake barrel as a mortar. We'll fill it with rocks or something, and reinforce the top."

"Or we could just use the usu, the wooden mortar, we use every year."

"Why didn't we use it last year?" Penguin pulled out a chair and sat opposite his friend.

"You all got shit-faced and decided the pounding in your head drove away the desire to thump rice into a glutinous mesh."

"You too, Cap."

Law tipped his hat a little. He might have done, otherwise they all would have kept up the tradition, hangover or no hangover.

"There's room in the sub?"

"So long as Jean Bart doesn't swing the mallet too high."

"There's a mallet in the sub?" the newest member asked. Everyone turned to look at him. They had clubs, cleavers, nodachi and machetes. Finding a mallet would not be a problem.

Penguin turned his attention back to Law. "You've gotta turn the dough." 

With twenty pairs of eyes upon him, Law weighed up whether the goodwill of his crew outweighed the possibility of getting his hands crushed under the weight of a Jean Bart strike. Then again, no-one was a clumsy as Cora, and he'd survived him.

"It's the leader's job. Only a leader can do it."

"Okay." He turned his attention to the map he had in front of him.

The crew scrambled to get the steamers and kettles and mixtures ready for the morning. Measuring out just how much they needed to feed them all wasn't that hard. They were unlikely to have visitors on the sub. Once calculated, they soaked the rice to steam it in the morning. In the meantime, Bepo had got the soba and broth ready so they could have the soft noodles once the clock struck midnight in order to say goodbye to the hardships of last year, and to welcome in good fortune for the next. Maybe their next battles wouldn't have to be so hard fought.

**oOOo**

It wasn't a surprise that Law was pretty good at not getting his fingers pulverised, and no-one aimed to do so. He was just glad he wasn't attempting this with Luffy, though the rest of that crew would probably be fine. On each upswing of the mallet, held between Ikkaku and Clione, or Shachi and Penguin (there was a worry there they might get his thumb with all their squabbling), or individually by Jean Bart or Bepo, he turned the dough. They soon had enough mochi of the right consistency to throw onto the sweet rice flour coating the table. Uni pinched off bits of warm mochi for others to dance between their hands into round, rectangular, or Bepo-shaped, cakes (that one always got a quiet smile from Law) to use later.

The Hearts lined up outside the kitchen waiting their turn at the mallet, or at the stoves cooking up their version of ozoni. Toasting the mochi if that was their way, leaving it soft and ready to dunk into the soup as it cooked if not.

The thing they all had in common was soup, rice cake, and warmth. The sub was hot at most depths, unbearable when it was in tropical waters, but they kept an eye on the calendar as a way of marking their journeys across the ocean.

The crew tried one ozoni, and didn't necessarily rinse out their bowls, because water was a commodity, but tipped out the clam shells or inedible flavourings, and went back for another from another area. After all, leftover mochi went hard, signifying good health for their bones and teeth, and who didn't want that, considering how many they broke on a regular basis? And eating it encouraged them all to hold together, to stick together, to continue successfully as a crew under their captain into the coming year.

They were a smart bunch, and could understand the ingredients were hardy and grew in winter climes when vegetation was scarce on the ground. They were a group of survivors. They bitched about which version of New Year's soup was the best, but ate them all. To not do so would be a waste, a temptation of fate. Something they didn't need when they were only one day into a new year of adventure and exploration.

* * *

 

 So looks like this mochi has some matcha added to it. It's a fun tradition. Google!

This Wikipedia and Wikimedia Commons image is from the user Chris 73 and is freely available at //commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Making_mochi_with_an_Usu_and_Kine.jpg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early Happy New Year! Hope you all have a good one. :-)  
> [Mochitsuki](https://asahiimports.com/2014/01/04/mochitsuki-a-japanese-new-years-tradition/)  
> [ Mochitsuki 2](https://www.wikihow.com/Do-Mochitsuki)  
> [ozoni](https://matcha-jp.com/en/3594)


	10. New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Law wakes up with a headache.

**New Beginnings**  

Today was the first day of the rest of his sober life. Just as well they couldn't see the first sunset in the sub, but there was always some sentimental fool who'd set up a transponder and, if they had any land-based family or friends, get a video streamed in. Risky. It wasn't like the marines _didn't_ have their own subs able to intercept and pinpoint. To fire them the fuck out of the water, or spiral them to the sea floor. He had to pound that mochi today too. Or, he had to be deft enough to turn it without Bepo pulverising his thumbs to surgeon-in-retirement status.

How'd he let Penguin convince him, Shachi sweet talk him? Guess he wouldn't have been much of a captain if he couldn't toast in the New Year with his crew, but one drink wasn't a whole bottle of sake, a whole two bottles of sake. A whole . . . Never mind. It was shared. From Ikkaku's hometown, too. The water ran pure that way. The rice was delicious. The sake irresistible. Uni stayed sober. One man against a swarm of marines? It hadn't come to that, but he'd seen Marineford. New Year's Day  was little more than a jingoistic tool to the World Government.

Law sat at his desk, rubbed his fingers together so that they looked like death warmed up too. Hah. He wouldn't share his pun. No-one appreciated his humour. His bones cracked more than they should for his twenty-six years as he roused his laggardly mess of limbs out the room to tap Penguin awake with the hilt of Kikoku — still scared him after all these years.

They'd pull together this raggle-taggle group to make the mochi for ozoni soup that they'd share and bicker over. They'd remember the way each member sang their region into being last night, and ignore the ache of hangover, the loss of family and land, with another few sweet drops of ale, and the abiding glare of their captain, sitting at the top of the table like a bear with a sore head. Bepo actually was a bear with a sore head on these occasions. But they didn't remind him of it too often, cos a bear with a sore head was not to be messed with. Law, on the other hand, was a different matter. At least on New Year's Day when anything was possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Reddit: Aphorisms and Tropes: Daily Prompts for January: January 1:** Today is the first day of the rest of their life. A character's just been given a second chance to get things right. How do they feel about this new beginning? (200 words)
> 
> About 400 words.


	11. As fast as he could caper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He went to bed to mend his head with vinegar and brown paper.

**As fast as he could caper**

Bepo stood at the stove simmering the cider vinegar and dipping brown paper into it. Captain hit his head that morning, without the use of his Room. He didn't know when he'd learn that he was one metre ninety-one, and the entry way to the storage room was 1.87. Half the crew had to stoop to enter. Bepo and Jean Bart didn't even try. He'd sent Ikkaku to fetch the brown paper, and she'd screamed sexism, but he told her it was heightism, and who did she call when she wanted to get her cap back from where Shachi or Penguin had pegged it, well out of her reach?

She reddened. Of course she could get her own hat back, but she entered the room, got the paper for him, and the vinegar. Ironically, Law had been trying to enter the room in search of brown paper. Shachi and Penguin'd had a scuffle over who was on bog duty, never a pleasant task, and he'd needed the paper to treat their bruises. Guess who got stuck with cleaning the toilets. She wasn't happy.

They used brown packing paper, very coarse, but it absorbed the warmed up diluted vinegar well and reduced any inflammation. Bepo wasn't looking forward to changing the strips once everything fired up again, including tempers. Some used honey for sprains, but how much honey would you need? And a honey addict kept disappearing the sweet syrup from the sub anyway.

He'd read that brown and black bears broke through electric barriers surrounding hives to crunch up all the bees inside and to slurp down the treacly ambrosia. That was some heavy kind of habit, but he understood it.

You had to make sure the pieces were cool enough to place on the noggin, but not too cool. Captain sat at the kitchen table trying to glare, but his head was obviously throbbing, and the injury wasn't worth the energy of a Room. Shachi was at one end mumbling under his breath, and an equally bruised and scraped Penguin sat at the other, sporadically shouting, "What was that, arsehole?" and shutting down just as quickly as Law tiredly tilted his fingers upwards, sparking with blue. Dad could be such a drag.

However, they knew, probably as much as Bepo did, that Law was a bit out of sorts to properly set up a Room. So it was more dangerous. What if he couldn't realign what he misaligned? Though his off-kilter asymmetry in a Room really was a sight to hold. Bepo sometimes wished he could meet Jora just so he understood the foundation of Law's artistic skills. So Penguin bit at his lip and sat patiently as Bepo tapped the tongs on the edge of the pan a little louder than he needed to. Penguin knew Ikkaku was the one he should really be worried about, and he guessed he'd face her later.

Bepo approached Law with the strips — still holding together — and with a bunch of flannel workers' bandanas to tie around his crewmates' heads in best construction worker manner. Captain waved tattooed fingers at the two bickering ninnies first, without looking up from his book, though Bepo knew he was having some trouble focusing. He'd been on page 162 for half an hour, and Law taught the speed readers how to pick up the pace. But, Captain's orders.

"We've got magic. We've got modern. We've got methods. We've got state of the art." Penguin's words were kind of thick. Shachi had walloped him a few good ones. "And you're gonna fix me up with vinegar and brown paper?"

"Who said you get more flies with honey?" Bepo surveyed the three sorry souls in the kitchen area. Maybe they weren't attracted to the vinegar, but they were there for it. Plus, there was no honey. Some crackhead had eaten it all. He slapped a wet paper over Penguin's forehead before he could start complaining, and deftly tied a thin towel into a bandana to keep it in place, then jammed his cap back on his head to keep everything in order.

"You look kinda badass."

Penguin lit up. Law's apparent fascination at the same sentence in his book did a poor job of hiding the small smile. Bepo had been getting mouthy lately.

"Like you're going to pull on tabi socks and start climbing scaffolding," Shachi agreed.

"What was that, arsehole?" Penguin touched the back of his head where Bepo had tied the towel with some skill. He guessed he might look cool. "I mean…"

"Thanks?" Shachi ventured.

Penguin couldn't remember why they were fighting. The towel kept the warm paper against his skin, and the heat behind the bruising decreased. Smelt like a fish and chip shop.

Shachi's arm was badly bruised where Penguin had gripped it. It was some small grievance over locker space that tumbled into an argument about avoiding bog duty. Small grievances in such a confined space could be deadly.

Bepo draped the paper on Shachi's skin and gently pressed it against the swelling. He used a similar towel to keep the compression in place, and told Shachi to rest for about half an hour.

"I gotta sit in the same room as that guy for how long?"

"You've spent your lives together," Law said, "What's another thirty minutes?"

Law had people before Penguin and Shachi, and Bepo had family before Law and Penguin and Shachi, but Penguin and Shachi were lucky enough to nearly always have been Penguin and Shachi.

.  
.

Penguin rested his head on folded arms and napped. Shachi tried to figure out who'd carved graffiti into the table. "Meat." Had Strawhat left that behind the only time he'd been on the sub? He'd been comatose and then uncontrollable, so when had he got the chance? Who knew? Maybe it was someone with a similar dietary obsession.

Bepo placed his supplies on the table, careful not to spill anything, and to keep the strips all in one piece. The temperature should be perfect. He stood to the side of his captain for a second and Law glanced across at him with thirteen years of friendship.

Bepo knew Law could ride with a lot of pain because he always had. Amber Lead was no joke. A bump to the head wouldn't put him out of commission, and if it was the middle of battle or a visit to an island, a celebration for somebody's birthday, or even just time for everyone to pile in and devour whatever was served for lunch, he'd let the dull ache work its way into the bruise, running a background check on swelling and any increased discomfort. But they had time, so why not treat the injuries while they could?

Bepo removed Law's hat and his large paw pushed back his hair, gently touching the discoloured skin, noticing the minute twitch as the speckled gold in Law’s grey eyes sparked like the edges of a fire escaping into a night sky. His hand kept his place in his book.

"Close your peepers. Don't want them to sting."

Law did.

Penguin wondered in his drowsy state why he never received the caution. Bepo was always playing favourites.

The navigator pasted the paper over Law's forehead, and as he'd done for Penguin, tied it in place with a worker's cloth bandana, simple colours, so effective for keeping out dust and sweat, for keeping in the cider vinegar that would draw out any nettles and reduce any bruising to a dab of colour. Captain looked cooler. He didn't need to be told.

Honey entrapped Bepo, that's for sure, he was jonesing for some right now, but vinegar neutralised friction and treated aches and wounds in a way that a sugary fix couldn't. Sure, if there was any syrup on board, Bepo knew it had its uses other than on the tastebuds of some purple-tongued thief.

"Open your eyes, Cap." He did, black bandana hiding whatever was bruised; earrings, a flash of colour; ink, unavoidable as Law rubbed his hands over his face. "You look like a pirate."

Law laughed against his palms. "Should I wear this all the time?"

Bepo shook his head. He liked Law's hat and spotted jeans and whatever top he'd decided suited his mood. Oh, he could rock a kimono too. Especially the haori, and he'd let him, Bepo, choose the one decorated with fish. He _loved_ that haori.

"Keep still for half an hour. Move on from page one hundred and sixty-two, and you should feel a whole lot better in thirty minutes."

"Yes, doc." Law's crew was made up of medical professionals after all, and Bepo was showing his healing hand right now.

Bepo moved to the sink with the items, discarding a few sopping leftover bits of paper into the bin. He tipped out the bit of diluted vinegar remaining and put the pan aside for the dishes to tackle after lunch.

It was so quiet. Had they murdered each other?

Wrapped with the Mink’s folk knowhow, knowledge that others also used, the three friends sprawled over the table. Shachi and Penguin with faces pushed into their own drool. Both men peaceful, bandaged and healing. Law had flattened the book across his chest and sat back in his chair, chin on chest, and snored. Bepo liked the noise. If Law slept against him, it sent a rumble through his body.

Home remedies. That was where the heart was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Reddit: Aphorisms and Tropes: Daily Prompts for January. January 6** : You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. Which kind of person is your character? Or do you have one of each? Describe how their personality helps them navigate a social situation. (400 words)
> 
>  **January 7:**  Working Through the Cold. Someone's a bit sick today, but obviously that's not going to slow them down. Right? (500 words)
> 
> About 1500 words. Only 600 over. I was loosey-goosey using the prompts, but these two appealed to me. Title is from the nursery rhyme, "Jack and Jill". 
> 
> Thanks for reading. All feedback is appreciated.


	12. If Cora didn't come back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Law waits for Cora to return with the ope ope no mi. What if he doesn't come back?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set on Minion Island. Not a Hearts/Bepo drabble.

* * *

**If Cora didn't come back**

* * *

He felt the explosion. It wasn't heard. Pushing open the door of the cabin Cora deposited him in, Law had seen him run up the path, up through the snow. Maybe there were steps below the white. He couldn't hear a thing. Snow falling had its own kind of silence, indistinguishable now as Cora's power coated everything. Black feathers swaying was Law's only indicator that there was movement at all.

Huddled in a blanket, it sure wasn't warm out, but just as the nagi-nagi no mi quieted all around them, Law's fever drove out the cold. There was no way he could've stayed on the boat he and Cora had taken to Minion. He wouldn't have survived. The amber lead or the ocean would have taken him. Which one first he didn't know. But that ocean was as rough as fuck and to steady their small boat against it when he struggled to keep the blanket around him was impossible.

Could he be healed? It was a nice thought. Maybe it was unfair the shit he'd gone through. Maybe it was hard stuff to go through. Maybe it wasn't punishment for not playing with Lammy, not doing his chores, for being more interested in frogs than friends.

Cora had cried for him and Law cried too. He hadn't cried since before he'd escaped in that cart of bodies. He didn't know what he thought about it. Made things hurt in a different way from the disease. Doflamingo was always sniggering, and Law tried to laugh too. Even when things weren't so funny. Especially when they weren't funny. He'd seen the shift in everyone's eyes as they tried to figure out Doflamingo's mood. His power kept them tippy-toe teetering on the edge of approval. It was sweet when Doffy loved you, and terrifying when you crossed a line.

It was fair. They were brats. They crossed those lines all the time. But where they were drawn was hard to figure out. What was okay one day was off limits the next.

Now on the step, covered in snow, he liked seeing his air puff out in front of him, if only it didn't hurt to kinda pull the cold air in and expel it. Cora was coming back and maybe he could shake this cough. Law watched the building on the hill silently burn.

Maybe he wouldn't come back. They'd only just escaped some of the marines mobilised to track him down on the islands they visited because Cora tried to cure him. Luck. How much did he have? This town, it was quiet and empty of people too. It was a good town for him. Stripped of everyone. No-one could yell at him here because there was no-one to yell at him. What happened? The houses were intact. Not burnt or shot at or shattered.

If Cora wasn't coming back, this would be the last and it wouldn't be such a bad last. He'd got away from the soldiers who gunned down his parents, hid from platoons tramping through Flevance, hadn't gone to his execution with Sister and his classmates, had escaped the fire that took Lammy and, by dulling every last nerve in his body and mind, had left Flevance with his silent countrymen.

Could have done with Cora's ability then. The putrefaction of the bodies had set in with some, was definitely in process with others, and the gurgling, jostling, squelching — the smells, and the clammy, wet skin — were feelings he tried to buy off with ice cream and doing the best he could for Doflamingo. Learning from the man. But he'd escaped that too.

Death hadn't broken him after Cora threw him from Donquixote headquarters, hurtling down a crazy number of metres, at least ten times his height, and landing sharply on the scrapyard metal. And he'd survived stabbing Cora. The phoney mute hadn't ratted him out.

Would he survive Doflamingo? Cora had kidnapped him. It wasn't Law's choice, but not all things were upfront and Cora tried to help him. If he'd untied him more often in the early days he would've run. He wasn't the strongest. This disease was degenerative.

He couldn't run. So he sat in the snow. If Cora didn't come back, he'd sit in the snow and let it cover him. He glanced up the hill and heard shouts and shots. Not a good sign. He'd sit in the snow that constantly hushed the world around him now. It was difficult enough to think as it was, lungs tight with every inhalation. The flakes were pretty.

If Cora didn't come back, the snow would slow Law down and, really, walking was difficult. Cora had carried him for the last few weeks. He was still shivering, that was a good sign. But if Cora didn't come back, he'd lie down, close his eyes, and fall asleep. He'd fought hard, but better that the white lead take him than some uniform-clad or cutlass-waving thug take him with promises of safe journey leading to dark nights. Let the snow take him, this white city. If Cora didn't come back. It was almost time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a Bepo-centred or Hearts centred drabble at all. I was rewatching the scenes where Cora set off to get Law's devil fruit, and Law is left sick and alone in the cold, well on his way to death. He's seen so much already, and escaped so much already, but he was a lot healthier and able before. 
> 
> Though he wants to believe that Cora can do this and hopes he can, that burgeoning hope, trust and love must have come up against Law's past experience of being exposed to (but also escaping) grim, horrific, traumatic events, which stripped him of everyone he cares about. So, this is a drabble/one shot centring on what might have gone through his mind, him being more than a few degrees close to death from either hypothermia or Amber Lead Syndrome, in the time it took Cora to get the ope ope no mi and to return with it.
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	13. Please, No Shorts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now some say he's doing the obituary mambo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bepo and Law, dance steps.

* * *

**Please, no shorts**

* * *

 

Bepo loved dancing with Law. He could wear his gaucho hat and not worry about bumping it into the forehead of his partner. It was fun twirling a shorty. Sure, sure, that bastard Doflamingo still towered over him, so he couldn't wear it then, but Bepo never intended to tango with him.  _Un-uhh_. No sireebob. Not in a hundred million thousand years, or however much Strawhat Luffy's bounty sat at nowadays.

He could take Law to the  _milonga_ , and ooh-la-la, he had to be on his toes to keep him away from the slit skirts and tight pants, clicking heels and perfumed bodies that descended upon that messy dark hair and gold-flecked gaze and tattoos that beat a tattoo of their own calling. He took Penguin once, but he'd worn shorts. Shorts! Not even cargo pants. The next newsletter specifically outlined the dress code. Smart casual, but no shorts. Please.

High-waisted 1940s hardboiled suited Law. White shirt tucked in and Bepo'd even convinced him to wear a ruffled front once because he'd told him Eustass Kid had shown up in puffy sleeves. Just as well he smouldered, because his two left feet had not corrected despite Bepo turning him this way and that and giving him homework. He knew he practiced. He heard the heel clicks in the Captain's Quarters as he passed by with armloads of laundry.

Law wore a tight fitted long sleeved black number now, with Hearts Jolly Rogers along the chest panels. Maybe a little unconventional, Bepo thought, adjusting his vest, and shaking out his baggy pants, but as long as Law stayed close it didn't matter. And if he strayed it just meant that Bepo had to save him from getting passed from partner to partner.

It didn't help that the Mink was popular in his own right. Being nimble on your feet did that for you. Karate master,  _Milonguero_  maestro. He couldn't resist a tap on his shoulder — a call from Inuarashi (couldn't wear his hat with him either) or Wanda wanting to cut up the floor with his prowess — to bubble the baubles of his bolero jacket. That left Law susceptible to Nico Robin or Marco the Phoenix's whims. Luffy was easily bought off with whatever was being roasted on the spit. If the Minks were there, it tended to be water-based. Hippopotamus. Crocodile. Deposed oligarchs.

And Law had no trouble with the demon child or the phoenix either, though he also had to take off his hat if he danced with Marco. It was not written yet: No shorts, please.  _And no fluffy caps_. Everything else fit together so well in that bizarre way Captain had of electrifying a jumble, that the organisers didn't dare scare him off by restricting this one anomaly. Maybe they sensed it'd be a deal breaker.

Bepo whirled in Inuarashi's arms. Back arched in a dip that would have Boa Hancock frothing, he saw from the corner of his (upside down) eye that Law led Nico Robin with grace across the floorboards. The extra hands guiding just where to place his feet might have had something to do with it. As he rose and leant forward into Inuarashi's, …no… Wanda's embrace, he had to admit that maybe Captain would’ve done better if he'd let him lead some instead of always taking charge. Sicilian twirled him until he felt giddy. It wasn't really Bepo's fault if Captain couldn't easily switch the roles, but he had been a bit cheeky.

When did he ever have the chance to lead on the Polar Tang except when practicing the tango with his captain? It gave him both joy and satisfaction. He was the navigator. That's what he did. Set the boat in the right direction.

Whether it would reach the shore or not was another question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. This is a bit of a throwaway companion piece to [ this one shot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18967522).
> 
> All feedback is appreciated and motivating. Don’t have an account? Don’t worry, the kudos button (and/or comment box) still love you.


End file.
